


Let Me Be Your Ritual

by starspangledsprocket



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood and Injury, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, During Canon, First Kiss, Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), Hurt/Comfort, Injured Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, Mid season 10, Protective Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:47:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28008672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starspangledsprocket/pseuds/starspangledsprocket
Summary: "Dean Winchester was a man of many rituals for someone who swore they had so little faith."Dean makes it a habit to patch his friends and family up after cases. Castiel sees right through him.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 12
Kudos: 188





	Let Me Be Your Ritual

**Author's Note:**

> Who thought, in the year of our lord 2020, that it'd be Supernatural of all things to get me out of a near two year writing slump. 
> 
> Not this bitch, that's for sure.

Dean Winchester was a man of many rituals for someone who swore they had so little faith. He always took the bed closest to the door in motel rooms. He always unpacked his clothes and laid the next day’s outfit out, no matter how little time he and Sam spent in any particular place. Every Thursday, no matter where they were or what trouble they were in, he fieldstripped all of his weapons and made the adequate repairs before doing anything else.

Beer was for celebration – whiskey for cases, research, and anything else. He ordered burgers with everything on, extra onions, and then picked the tomato off, without fail; it didn’t cross his mind to simply order it without. He felt grounded in the repetition, especially when so much of their lives was so out of his control.

Out of control, like Sam being possessed by Gadreel. Like Metatron, and the Mark of Cain, and dying – _again_. Out of control, like becoming a demon, becoming BFFs with _Crowley_ , of all people, and then human again.

Sometimes, it was hard to imagine any part of his life he did have control of.

He couldn’t control Heaven, or Hell, or the monsters they fought, but he _could_ control what happened after they fought them.

“Alright, ladies,” he announced, letting Sam and Castiel into the motel room before him so he could be the one to lock the door behind his aching body. “Arms up.”

An ancient Greek deity had gone rogue a hundred or so miles from Bastrop, Texas. The farming community out there had been struggling with a bad harvest and diseased animals, suddenly turned around only as bodies started dropping. Cas had called them in, and it had been pretty cut and dry from there – find the source (in this case, a cult of leathery farmers sacrificing people in exchange for healthy agriculture), gank the deity, and set the cult straight. With everything going on in the wider circle of their lives, it had almost felt nice to be beaten up by common garden maniacs again.

“I’m fine, Dean,” Sam replied, though he was well-versed in this particular ritual by now, so, with a sigh, he raised his arms above his head and gave Dean a pointed look. “See?”

Dean looked him over for a moment, watching for any sign of injury, but the fact he could stretch his body meant nothing was seriously wrong, at least. Some bruises, maybe, and a couple of scratches across his face from where the deity had thrown him across the barn, but nothing a shower and a hot meal wouldn’t cure.

Satisfied, Dean nodded his head and Sam dropped his arms back to his sides with another pointed look.

“Your turn.”

Dean raised his own arms above his head, and though his back twinged, Sam didn’t seem to notice. He even did a little jig to prove he was okay, and Sam nodded his head with a huff of laughter.

“I’m gonna do a food run,” he announced afterwards. “If I take a shower first I don’t think I’ll have the energy, and I’m starving.”

“Okay,” Dean agreed, watching as his brother grabbed a jacket to cover the blood on his shirt and made for the door. “Beer and pie.”

“You got it,” Sam replied, and then he was gone.

Dean waited for just a moment, facing where Sam had disappeared through the tackily painted door, and then rounded on Castiel, who was perched gingerly on the edge of Dean’s bed.

“Alright, Tinkerbell,” he started, though he made sure his voice was even. “Your turn.”

He had never really worried about Sam because he always kept tabs on him, and he knew that he hadn’t been seriously hurt before they’d even set foot back in the car. Castiel, however, had taken a beating, and angel or not, he had been suspiciously quiet the whole way back to the motel. Sam had sensed it as well, he thought – it’s why he’d made himself scarce.

“Dean…” Castiel started, but promptly closed his mouth when Dean crossed his arms over his chest. “I –“

“Don’t make this worse than it has to be,” Dean told him, voice gentler than he had anticipated.

With a rattling sigh, Castiel rose onto unsteady feet, and only then did Dean realise he was hunched, protecting the right side of his body.

“Arms up.”

To his credit, Castiel really tried. His left arm went up with little effort, but he only managed to raise his right past his chest before he grimaced in pain and held it tight against his body again. That was more than enough for Dean; he was across the room in seconds, crouching by the bed as Castiel dropped heavily back onto its surface.

“You should have said something sooner,” he huffed, already peeling Castiel’s trench-coat and jacket away from his injured side.

“I’m fine,” Castiel tried, and Dean chose to ignore him lest he accidentally punch his lying face instead.

It was pretty bad. His shirt, which was usually pristinely white, was wet with blood, stained from Cas’s armpit right down to his belt. Dean hissed with sympathy, and was grateful when Cas at least didn’t fight him as he began to unbutton his shirt. In any other moment, he might have been embarrassed, undressing his friend like this. His fingers shook a little as he pulled each button free, but that was just adrenaline wearing off, and maybe a little bit of fear. There was no room for embarrassment here – Cas needed him, and that was all that mattered.

However bad the shirt had looked, what lay underneath was much, _much_ worse.

“Jesus, Cas,” Dean whispered, gently pushing the shirt, jacket and trench-coat over his shoulders at once.

His torso was a mess. Something long and sharp had sliced deep into his side, the wound at least eight inches long and a couple inches deep – deeper towards the middle. Blood oozed sluggishly from it, staining his pale skin a sickly red.

“You remember what happened?” Dean asked, already cataloguing the meagre first aid supplies he knew they had for infection and stitches in his head, and whether or not he should call Sammy to pick some more up on his food run.

“One of the farmers had a scythe,” Castiel admitted, and with each word more blood oozed from his body. “And when the deity threw me, I think I landed on a rake.”

“You think you –?”

Dean was searching for more injuries before he could even finish his sentence. The rest of Castiel’s front seemed fine, mostly, if for a couple of bruises under his left pectoral that had to ache; it was when Dean reached out and carefully tugged until Castiel fell into his arms that he realised there were deep puncture holes in his back.

That was when he started to panic a little.

“ _You dumb son of a bitch_ ,” he grated out, not really to Castiel, or to himself, but to the situation as a whole. “Why aren’t you healing? I thought you said Crowley gave you your mojo back?”

“Borrowed,” Castiel sighed, his voice small and pained. “Dwindling.”

Another thing to add to the list of times Castiel had lied to him. Dean bit his lip to keep himself from saying something he’d regret later, and instead peeled himself away from Cas’s body to lean back on his haunches. Colour was draining from Cas’s face by the minute, and he realised he was going to have to put away whatever feeling was bubbling hot and painful in his chest for later, because it was beginning to look like this was a lot worse than even he had thought.

“Okay, stay there,” he instructed, clambering to his feet.

The bathroom in this particular motel was small, but the sink ran clean and cool, and there was a small stack of clean towels by the tub, and that was all he needed. Wetting the towels, and then scooping up their first aid kit as he hurried back into the bedroom, he dropped his supplies on the end of the bed and surveyed what needed to be done.

“Dean –“ Castiel tried again, but Dean shushed him softly as he began dabbing at the worst of the blood at his side.

“This might hurt,” he apologised in advance, moving the towel closer to the deepest part of the wound. “I’m sorry, okay? I have to clean it out.”

Castiel nodded, body wracked with fine trembles, and Dean couldn’t decide if they were from cold or shock. He didn’t ask, instead went back to his task of gently, methodically cleaning his friend up.

Every once in a while a small grimace plastered Castiel’s face, or a grunt of pain passed his lips, and Dean paused each time, gave him a moment to steady his breathing with a soothing hand on his thigh, and then went back to work. It was slow going, and the room would have been deathly quiet if not for their unsteady breathing and the occasional whimper from Cas, but Dean found a rhythm in the familiarity of the scene. He had done this countless times – for Sam, for himself, for his Dad, back in the day – and he knew how this all worked. He knew exactly what needed to be done.

It didn’t look… _quite_ as bad once the worst of the blood had been washed away. Sure, housekeeping was going to have a fit when they came to find the towels in the morning, but Dean had already planned for them to be checked out by first light anyway. The wound at Castiel’s side was no longer bleeding, but hot to the touch - a sign that infection was already beginning to set in. His back was better, but the wounds – where smaller – were deeper, and still weeping. He thought momentarily of going back to his bag, fishing out the half bottle of whiskey he knew was stashed in there. It’d be a quick way to disinfect the wounds for sure, but… looking up at Castiel’s face, he decided against it. Dark bags had painted themselves under Cas’s eyes, and a sheen of sweat covered his knitted, pallid brow. He hid his pain as well as it seemed he was able, but Dean could still see it in his eyes, threatening to spill out at any moment.

No, he would do this the proper way.

“You need some painkillers,” he decided aloud, and watched as Castiel tried to hide the flicker of relief that washed across his face. “Hold tight.”

He got back to his feet and went back to the bathroom, filling a glass he found in the medicine cabinet with cold water. Castiel was exactly where he had left him as he walked back to the bedroom, so he placed the water on the bedside table and crouched at his feet again, hands going back to the first aid kit.

“I don't know if they will work,” Cas murmured as Dean showed him a half empty bottle of aspirin. “I am still an Angel –“

“Well, we can try,” Dean cut him off, tipping two pills straight into Castiel’s palm. He reached for the glass and placed it in the other. “Drink.”

“I have no need for –“

“Drink,” he repeated, and Castiel did as he was told, popping the pills into his mouth and chugging the water afterwards.

Once he was done, he passed the glass back to Dean, who put it back onto the bedside table. He simply peered at Castiel for a moment, watching for any signs of him worsening, but after a moment it was Castiel who looked away, eyes cast down to where his hands now rested on his knees.

“You're angry,” he murmured, which took Dean completely by surprise.

“No, I’m –“

But he paused, realising that Cas was right. He was _furious_ \- at the mark on his arm, at the angels for what they had done to him, and Sam, and Cas, and the demons for the same thing. He was mad at loss of Kevin, and everyone else in his life that had left, or died, or been taken from him, and at the monsters that had done it all. But most of all, in that moment, he was angry at the _son of a bitch_ deity that had hurt his _stupid_ , brave angel.

“I don’t like seeing the people I care about hurt,” he replied, proud of how even his voice was, even if he had to clear his throat first.

“Oh.”

Dean didn’t push for further words – didn’t really want to talk about it – so he rummaged back in the first aid kit to give his shaking hands something to do. He found what he was looking for quickly, and felt a mighty side better when he realised there was still some left.

“You’re a lucky guy,” he murmured, glancing up at Cas with a tight smile. “You’re getting the five-star treatment, here, buddy.”

Bobby had routinely stocked their first aid kit, and with him gone it had been sadly wanting for a long time. One of the best gifts Bobby had ever given them was the tube in Dean’s hand – a numbing antiseptic gel that _actually worked_. He had been sure he’d used the last of it on Sam a few years back after a particularly nasty spirit had thrown him through a window, but apparently not.

“Can you move a little?” he asked, groaning as he pushed to his feet.

Castiel allowed himself to be positioned, Dean’s hands as gentle as possible as he held his shoulders and pivoted him just enough so he could slip onto the bed behind him. He worked quickly, forcing some gel onto his fingers and then rubbing feather-light at the puckered skin around the wounds at Castiel’s back. He was careful not to get any inside – he wasn’t a _masochist_ – but close enough that the numbing agent would start to do its thing and make the whole area feel a little less tender.

“Oh,” Castiel breathed again, chin tucked down against his chest as Dean continued to work. “That feels pleasant.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, because he knew all too well how good the stuff was. “These are gonna need stitches, I think. I’ll let this stuff do its thing – patch your side up first – and then I’ll come back to it, okay?”

“Okay,” Castiel agreed.

Dean took another moment to just glance over Castiel’s back. His skin was smooth, pale, and looked majorly unharmed apart from the puncture wounds. Without really thinking, he ran a soothing hand from the top of Cas’s spine round to his shoulder; a line of goosepimples followed his touch.

“Alright,” he murmured, a little reluctant to move. “Let’s get you patched up.”

He made himself move after that, and forced his hand away from where it had been plain _holding_ Castiel’s shoulder. Cas, to his credit, just stared forlornly at him as he pushed himself off the bed and back down to his knees. His side wouldn’t need stitches, he decided swiftly; the wound wasn’t wide enough to warrant them, and was already beginning to clot. Instead, Dean forced the last of the gel out onto his fingers and repeated his movements from moments ago, tenderly massaging the medicine around the worst of the redness and infection. Cas sighed beneath his touch, a tired, grateful thing, and Dean tried not to think about what it meant too much. He was obviously just glad for the relief – that was all.

“This one looks pretty good,” he announced, feeling the need to fill the silence with something. “We’re gonna have to keep an eye on the infection, but it won’t need stitches. Lift your arm a little? It needs covering.”

Castiel did as he was asked, moving his arm out to the side while Dean fished around for some gauze pads and tape in the first aid kit. There weren’t many, but he managed to just about cover the whole thing with a couple spare for the wounds at his back. All the while, Castiel remained still and silent above him, and when Dean was done and glanced up to make sure he was alright, he realised he was staring down at him with an unreadable expression.

“You okay?” he asked automatically. “Did I hurt you -?”

He shut his mouth with an audible clack as Castiel reached out and cupped his face with painfully gentle fingers. He caressed the bruise forming under his eye with his thumb, and Dean was helpless to do anything but stare under his ministrations.

“You take care of everyone around you – protect and cherish them with all that you are,” Castiel murmured, head cocked ever-so-slightly to the side. “Who takes care of you?”

Dean couldn’t help the bitter huff of laughter that left his throat, and had to look away for a moment. “Nobody wants that job, pal – trust me.”

Castiel frowned, thumb still tracing soft lines under Dean’s eye.

“I do.”

Dean’s breath caught in his throat. Cas continued to stare at him – _into_ him – with such unwavering focus that he had to look away again, just for a second, lest he did something stupid like start crying.

“Yeah, well,” he croaked, unable to keep his voice from shaking this time. “I’m not the one that needs taking care of right now.”

Before Castiel could say anything else, he pushed himself up and out of his caring grip. He still had to stitch his back, and then he was going to lock himself in the bathroom for a _long_ shower.

“Dean,” Castiel insisted, grabbing Dean’s hand before he could get too far away.

Dean let him, of course. He stood there for a moment, hand in Castiel’s, weighing up how stupid he’d look if he simply turned tail and ran out of the door. Cas seemed to be weighing something in his mind, too, because his brows had knitted together again, and he appeared to be searching for something on Dean’s face. Then, seemingly satisfied with whatever he saw, he silently drew Dean down to the bed and brought their faces together for a passionate, if somewhat chaste, kiss.

Dean’s brain short-circuited. He was aware, dimly, that he was kissing back, and it was _good_ , but that’s about all he had the capacity for understanding. Castiel, however, seemed to know exactly what he was doing, if his grin was anything to go by.

_Little shit._

“Mmm,” Dean hummed, breathless against Castiel’s lips. “Not that I don’t appreciate whatever the _hell_ this is, but you’re gonna bleed out if you don’t let me sew those wounds up.”

“A shame,” Castiel murmured, shit-eating grin brighter than the sun. “This is quite enjoyable.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean couldn’t help but huff out a laugh. “There’ll be plenty of time for _that_ once I know you don’t have extra holes in you.”

“Fair enough.”

Before getting up, Dean dared to drop a kiss on Castiel’s forehead. The angel hummed in content, and Dean smiled against his skin. Then, with no small regret, he pulled away and got back to work.

**~**

Later, when Sam finally arrived back at the motel after having taken a _long_ drive to pass some time, it was to find Dean and Castiel soundly asleep, curled together under the covers of Dean’s bed.

_About time_ , he thought to himself, silently clambering into his own bed.


End file.
